Mère

I was an irrelevant conception,
My father fucked my mother.
Without a notion, there was a rumble and a scream, then silence.
Ancestors looked down from the stars at what was to be, never having a tangible connection, but knowing.
A sprawling pink mass with a compass that did not point any which way, directed by fear but a greater love.
A child birthing a child.
The innocence transferred and was given immortality.
Morality from the ground up divided into two parts and headed off into opposite directions, flowering in the dark and the light, driven by a subconscious desire for truth and abstraction, combining and subtracting desires and ideas fathomed from the deep of the world.
Duende kept alive and passed down without pretence or arrogance. Image

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